Sunshine and Daisies
by nothingSpectacular
Summary: AU. Noctis succeeded in killing Ardyn the first time, the crystal sharing its power. He's left though, his friends believing he's dead. Six years later Iris finds a wheelchair bound Noctis with amnesia. She figures, that even in the painful world they live in, maybe fairytales sometimes do happen.
1. Chapter 1

Iris thinks she's seeing a ghost. It's been six years since then, she's almost twenty two now, not the little girl she was when it happened. There's light now, no more daemons, the world still seems messed up though. A vacuum of power after the fall of the Niflheim Empire has caused a bunch of small states to crop up, all competing for power. Lestallum surprisingly enough has proved to be a force of political power in the fractured world they live in.

Holly and Dave run it, they go to political meets, they barter over exports and borders. Insomnia is now just a pile of ruins. It's weird to be in this moment, living before, during and after the cusp of history. She's actually up there in military prowess, acting as a commander for Dave (she can't think of him as Chief Auburn of the citystate Lestallum). Aranea helps train troops, she's not technically allied to anyone, but she's got a soft spot for Iris, one that's lead to encounters that make Iris a woman now, in more than one way.

That's him though, sure as the sun rises. He looks fragile in the wheelchair, all his muscle gone. His hair is long, pulled back in a loose ponytail, and there is a gentleness to his face and eyes Iris doesn't remember being there. She doesn't love him like she did, she's too old for puppy dog adoration. Now he is just a point of sadness and a nearly holy respect. Noctis Lucis Caelum, the final king of the Lucis line, the man who sacrificed his life to bring light back to the world.

Iris steps closer, not quite believing what she's seeing. He sees her, a smile runs across his face.

"Hello," he greets.

It's him, that is his voice. Iris sinks onto the nearest object available for sitting, staring at him. He looks concerned, rolling his wheelchair over and asking her if she's alright. She doesn't respond until his hand is reaching out for her, she bats it away.

"Sorry, just got dizzy for a second," Iris says, excuses.

He doesn't look annoyed at all, just soft and understanding. It's like the fairy tale memories she has of him, sweeping up to save her or bringing her flowers when she was sick. She feels bitter about it, this world isn't fairy tales.

He's in a wheelchair, he's too thin to be eating enough and his expression is such that she can tell he experiences chronic pain. Life's made her sharp to certain things. But he's acting like he's a fairytale. And just as suddenly it makes her tender.

"Sorry ma'am," he says softly, "can I get you anything?"

"Noctis," she says, deadpan.

He looks confused.

"What's that?" He asks kindly.

Iris blinks, he doesn't remember.

"Ignis? Prompto? Gladio?"

He looks more confused and also more concerned.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

She waves him off, so over males dropping fragility and tenderness like it means something. This world fucks you over without considering if you're fragile, feminine nature can handle it. Daemons don't differentiate between children and men, neither does the rest of life.

"Nothing, just, give me a second."

She needs to call Gladio. Her brother has spent the last six years holding guilt and some fucked up sense of romance in his head. Iris couldn't believe she'd ever see her big brother moon eyed over anything. It's stupid, annoying, it's also painful. Gladdy dies every morning when the sun comes up, and Iris hates it. She'd hate Noctis, but, she looks over at him and sees that he's putting together a meal, for her.

He rolls over in his chair, and hands her the food. He works here then, at this little hunting byway.

"You do good work, we need more hunters," he says, pressing it to her, making assumptions, being kind.

So not a fairytale, just someone who believes in people being good. It's almost worse.

Iris sits down on a container of Ebony, the crate almost high enough for her feet to leave the ground.

"You've got amnesia, don't you?"

He looks startled, a little scared, but there's also this wide eyed vulnerability which makes her feel that for once she can be the Prince.

'How do you know that?" he asks quietly.

She tilts her head.

"We met when I was five. My big brother's in love with you. We all thought you were dead."

He goes real pale, fingers clenching on the wheelchair.

"I-I have people?" he asks quietly.

Iris regrets her blunt manner for a moment. She softens.

"Yeah, you have people."

Iris loads him into the car. They drive to Lestallum. She calls up Gladio and tells him that he needs to get back, now. He says he'll try. She wants to spill everything, instead she snaps at him to do better than try. He quietly agrees. It makes her wonder when they swapped roles, Iris now the aggressive pusher and maker, Gladio the quiet, gentle one.

Noctis is real good about everything, he's actually wonderful company in the car, not asking too many questions and having a way of talking that's more like listening to a book or some soft melody. He's soothing, Iris thinks it's good reasoning that she loved him when they were little. He's genuine, he cares, and he's not a misogynistic prick, but he doesn't feel real, some ephemeral sensation to his presence, like he'll float away.

* * *

They arrive in Lestallum. Prompto and Cindy's oldest runt greets them. The kid prances about the car, demanding gifts, and answers about the mysterious stranger. Iris would tell little Noctia to beat it, but she's got a soft spot so she doles out candy and gives the kid a hair ruffle.

Cindy comes out, heavy and plump with their third baby. She pulls off the pregnancy glow that Iris believed was a myth. She stares at Noctis as Iris helps him with the wheelchair.

"Oh lawd," whispers Cindy.

"Where's Prom?" asks Iris.

Cindy regains composure quick.

"With Jack, picking up car parts."

Jack is their second kid. Cindy wipes her hands on her jeans, she's just come out of the garage.

Iris tosses her head and helps Noctis to the apartment building most of them live in and share. She can tell he's hurting and tired. Iggy is out at some citystate peace meeting helping with discussions on water resources.

It might be better that way.

Noctis falls asleep in his chair once he's up in his rooms. They're actually Gladio's rooms, not that Iris thinks it really matters. She heads out, waiting for Gladio to show up.

He finally pulls up, getting out of his beat up pick-up. He sees Iris and smiles, lifting her in a bear hug.

"I got something for you," says Iris.

Gladio tilts his head, but he follows her all the same. She opens the door to the rooms revealing a slumbering Noctis in his wheelchair. Gladio freezes, his eyes well up and Iris suddenly doesn't feel so smug.

Gladio takes a faltering step forward and then collapses to his knees in front of Noctis. He carefully grabs one of the hands and brings it to his lips, pressing kisses to it three times before holding it to his cheek. Noctis stirs and looks up. He's groggy and confused looking.

"Do, do I know you?" says Noctis softly, obviously taken aback at the sudden intimacy he's woken into.

Gladio just stares at Noctis like he is heaven and earth combined.

"No," Gladio says softly, carefully relinquishing Noctis' hand.

Noctis reaches out for Gladio, a fogged frown of something in his gaze.

"I-I think I do, I just," Noctis looks pained.

Gladio starts to withdraw, eyes closing off.

Iris thinks that maybe this was a mistake.

"No," Noctis says, reaching again for Gladio. "Please stay."

Gladio nods his head and Iris realizes she's seen too much. She leaves them.

* * *

Walking out to the street, she stares off at the distant view of the Rock of Ravatogh. Aranea approaches her, as if waiting.

"Hey possum," says Aranea, dipping in for much too bold of a claim for somewhere this public.

She backs out though with the same smooth confidence and grace.

"I think I gave Gladio back his sunshine."

"Didya now?" says Aranea with some interest.

Iris shrugs. Or maybe she's believing in fairytales.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything he remembers is only after waking up. It was in the backseat of a car, pain overwhelming him and feeling like he couldn't breathe. He remembers anguish and hands and some sort of surgery, but it's all like a grainy, far away image. The only thing he remembers clearly is the roof of the car he was tossed in after he was found, rust spreading across the metal top like a map of Cleigne and Duscae.

He also recalls the blood, his own, drenching his skin and a hip which was not how it should've have been, still isn't. The hunters had been looking for supplies, the light of day beckoning them into the empty city of Insomnia. Instead they had found him.

They'd cussed, shouted, moved him and inflicted more pain even as his body had begged him to give up and let go. Carried a mile to a car, shoved in and kept alive by some strange thread of fate, he'd only been able to think of the scent of sylleblossoms, of roads and glimpses of country which he cannot name now.

He remembers those things, with a frightening clarity: the maps, the way a place should look, directions to places he doesn't remember being, smells.

* * *

He is swept up by this young woman with a promise of his past. She makes him sad though, all bitter lines and a dark world coldness. She's got kindness in her though, tucked away. He believes it, sees it like a small flame in her amber eyes and curtained by her dark hair.

She promises to bring him to others who know him, to take him to his people. They travel to Lestallum, a word which always calls to mind the smell of spices and a sensation of warmth, both figurative and literal even though he has no memories to go with these strange feelings. She puts him in a room and says to wait. He falls asleep, always so exhausted, hungry and weary.

* * *

He awakes to lips soft and a cheek scratchy against his hands. There's a man kneeling in front of him and something about the long hair tied back in a half ponytail, the fearsome scar raised across his eye, and the amber eyes, that makes his head hurt. He feels intensely sad but happy at the same time.

The man looks at him in a way he can't describe, with eyes that hold him. The man asks him if he remembers him. He answers honestly, he says 'no', because he doesn't remember anything. The man looks sad, the man pulls away and Noctis (oh, how the name the girl gave him slips in so easily) hates it, feels like a part of his soul will be lost if this man, this unknown man, leaves him.

He begs the man to stay and the man stays, like it is his duty, like he would kneel at Noctis' feet everyday for the rest of his life. Noctis cries, because he doesn't remember the emotion that is raging in him, and he wants this man beside him even though he doesn't remember why. The man just holds his hand, says nothing, and stays.

He didn't mean to fall asleep. When he wakes up he is ensconced in a bed, he smells something which he remembers. It doesn't register a memory, just makes him feel safe and protected, and also blooms some strange arousal which is a slight brush stroke that feels like the past.

He opens his eyes and the man is by his bedside, just watching him with tenderness. There is food on the nightstand.

"You're awake," says the man.

Noctis, because he remembers Iris telling him that that is his name, nods.

"You're Iris' brother?" asks Noctis.

"Gladiolus," the man replies.

Noctis hears the name and it stirs something in him, mostly now though it brings to mind the flower, the small shoots he tended at the house of the kind woman who took him in after he was found by a group of hunters. The elderly woman had knelt each afternoon with him and brushed leathered fingers over petals with a sadness and rapture that Noctis did not understand in its greatest depths. Not even when she clipped and carried them to a wood cross where they wilted and died, repeating the action as if she re-lived her loss with every evanescent stem and petal.

"They're such pretty flowers," Noctis replies, smiling because he can picture the spears of white and remember their smells and recall their soft petals and how all of that always made him feel at peace.

For some reason the man, Gladiolus, looks sad.

"She said my name is Noctis," he says.

The man nods. Gladiolus nods. It is silent, Gladiolus reaches for the stew and settles it in Noctis' lap. He is tired still, his hands are shaking as he tries to eat and the stew refuses to move upwards. Usually he has bread, that's easier to eat with shaking hands.

He's not used to doing this much, the travel in the car, though strangely casting a feeling of safety on him, was very painful for his hip. He's doused in physical discomfort and emotional whiplash.

Gladiolus looks so sad. He carefully wraps his hand around Noctis' and guides the spoon to his mouth. Noctis takes four spoonfuls before he needs to stop, his stomach struggling.

He turns to look at the man.

"What was I like?" he asks in a rush.

Gladiolus looks surprised.

"You were brave, and strong," is returned with an absoluteness which stuns him.

Noctis frowns, he doesn't feel that way. When he pushes at his memory all it usually gives back are feelings of shame and desperation.

"Was I bad person?" he asks.

He's wondered it, many times, because how else can he end up broken like this with his only memories being maps, smells, and a sense of shame?

"No," Gladiolus says immediately, appearing alarmed at the thought. "You gave up everything to save the world."

Noctis frowns, that doesn't seem, right, or true. Gladiolus believes it though, Iris, bitter woman she is, told him it. He doesn't see himself saving the world.

"Eat more, you're so thin," Gladiolus sounds pained and Noctis is realizing quickly that he doesn't want to hear or see this man in pain.

So he takes a few more bites.


	3. Chapter 3

Gladio remembers when Noctis was fifteen, knocking at the Amicitia door on Valentine's with a bouquet of flowers that were all a dark pink. Gladio had thought it was for Iris, and he had been immediately amused and threatening, Iris afterall was his sister and just ten years old at that. Noctis however had held the bundle up for him, blushing pink, murmuring some disjointed stupid romantic thing. Gladio had barely been able to take them before Noctis was surging forward and kissing Gladio on the cheek.

Gladio had seized Noctis by the shoulders, held him back and stared. He'd realized then, the discarded bouquet on the ground, that they were gladiolus flowers.

He'd explained, in a level voice how he was straight and that it would never happen. Then he'd explained that Noctis was a prince, so that even on the imaginary chance that he was gay and the even more imaginary chance that it would be Noctis he was attracted to, it would and could never happen.

Noctis had been crushed. Gladio hadn't been kind, there was a kingdom that couldn't afford sentiment lingering. Noctis had stooped to pick up the bouquet. He had then formally apologized, handed over the flowers and a small thing of chocolates he'd had behind his back and asked Gladio to give them to Iris. He'd left then.

Years had passed, Noctis had never showed anything after, Gladio had never mentioned it. Gladio had thought that it was passed, forgotten.

Then Noctis, twenty years old, had used the Crystal to end the coming endless night. Gladio had watched him be pierced by thirteen weapons, had watched blood and life leave Noctis.

Prompto had been the one to grab Noctis' phone. Several hours later, sitting around a camp in the bright sunshine, the blonde had emerged from the tent with Noctis' phone in hand.

"He wrote letters, to all of us," he had said quietly before leaving to walk by himself, his tears not unnoticed by Gladio.

Gladio had taken it, had seen one letter to Ignis, several hundred thousand words long. Then several starts to Prompto, each begging forgiveness and for Prompto to be okay. Then he found the letters to him. There were fourteen. Over half confessed love, one which had plagued Noctis for ten years. They mainly apologized for being weak and cowardly, they all ended with him begging Gladio to not hate him too much after everything was over. Each claimed that he had never stopped loving Gladio, and that he was sorry for it, that he knew it was wrong and selfish.

Gladio had cried. Noctis had known he was going to die. He'd thought Gladio had hated him, and he'd spent the last five years hiding a love he thought was dirty and wrong and that he hated himself for.

Gladio, after letting Ignis read the one addressed to him, had kept the phone. He'd reread the letters to the point that he memorized some of them. Noctis was dead, Gladio's entire purpose destroyed, and Gladio hadn't even been able to make sure it wasn't painful for his friend, that he wasn't so scared.

He doesn't remember the exact point he fell in love, pointless requital to a dead man. It may have been when he realized that he'd lived his entire life believing that it would be spent with Noctis. He'd imagined kids, Noctis' and Lunafreya's, and him a sort of uncle. He'd imagined battles and meetings and galas and in the midst of it all him by Noctis' side till both were grey haired and old. Maybe he fell in love when he realized that his whole life was planned to be at his prince's side, or, maybe not. Whatever the cause, he had fallen hard and now lived in his regret.

He'd thought of how he had had the ability to ease his friend's pain, to have been a stable, supportive figure. Instead he had cut him down with words. He remembered making fun and saying caustic things about men he saw dating other men, all the while thinking Noctis had moved on. He'd feared that he'd spent the last month of the Prince's life destroying the man verbally, instead it seemed he'd been doing it for the last five years of the Prince's life.

Gladio was consumed by regret. He'd stood, fought, aided Ignis and Prompto in putting their efforts toward stabilizing what little civilization was left over from the collapse of the Niflheim Empire. He'd hunted down the rogue MTs. He'd done his best to carry on Noctis' legacy, all the while dying each day remembering what he'd done to someone he'd vowed to protect and someone he'd come to love more fiercely than any random lay or occasional woman or man who stayed for a few weeks or months.

By the second year of Noctis' passing he gave up on carrying on with trying to be human, pulling away from most human contact. He hunted, he remembered and regretted, and he failed at keeping his little sister from being hardened by the dark world they lived in.

Then Noctis is there, in front of him, alive. He is thin, in a wheelchair, scarred and battered, but he is alive.

Noctis doesn't remember him. It seems appropriate, the round way the world works, all his years crushing Noctis to be not allowed to hold him when he finally appreciates the man.

But Noctis is asking him to stay, he begs, even though he looks like he's in pain. Gladio can only stay, can only kneel by Noctis side and feel his heart be shredded as Noctis cries soft and painfully.

Noctis falls asleep and Gladio lifts his Prince, body frail and broken, and brings him to the bed. He removes the old boots, pulls down the covers and slips Noctis under them. He hates to see that his Prince has been ground to dust, there is no more pride. Gladio can see that the man no longer fights, doesn't even know what he should fight for because the astrals are cruel enough to leave him alive and without memory.

Gladio watches him sleep and he feels guilty. He loves Noctis and he has him back, and it is all he could ever ask for. He only leaves when he remembers the starvation evident on his Prince's body. He goes to get food.

When he returns Noctis is still asleep. His cheeks are sallow and sunken. Noctis has always had long lashes, dark black like his hair, and they are the same. His hair is longer now, he's taken it down and it is splayed across the pillow. There is a slight bit of scruff spread across his jaw.

Gladio is looking closely, taking it all in and trying to memorize it. He reaches a hand out and brushes his fingers across some of Noctis' hair. It is rough and weak from lack of nutrition, a dull color instead of the shiny, silken black strands he remembers. He pulls his hand back, feeling as though he is trespassing. It's been six years, Noctis has had to survive on his own.

Gladio is content to sit and watch. Noctis rouses eventually. He realizes that the blue of Noctis' eyes are still the same color.

He gets him to eat and answers questions, ones which pierce him. Noctis is Noctis, and is the only person in the world that he can think of as just being. And Noctis doubts this.

Noctis eats a little more. He looks up and there is a familiar shine of humour in his eyes.

"Y'know, I'm not infirm," says the bedridden man.

"I know," he replies.

"Iris, her name is Iris right?" Noctis asks hesitantly, looking at him like he's worried about offending him.

He nods his head.

"She said you loved me," Noctis is looking at him with puzzlement, a bit of incredulity and at the depths of the statement, fear.

Gladio doesn't know what to say to that. He almost says 'yes', the truth, but he has a feeling that Noctis needs something different. He tilts his head, bringing his elbows forward and taking one of Noctis' hands in his own calloused palms.

Noctis looks meek, a little startled. Gladio brings Noctis' other hand into his and he holds his hands between his own.

"You gave me flowers once, gladioli."

Gladio is silent, he wants to say sorry but the Noctis here and now will not understand. Even the Noctis of before would probably not understand.

"I've woken up for six years, every morning, hoping someday I'd get the chance to give you flowers in return."

Noctis draws his hands away, head turning to the side. He curls his fingers around each other, his shoulders drawn in.

"I'm not the same person, I-I don't remember, anything, except-" Noctis falls short.

His head bows and his loose hair falls around his face like a curtain. Gladiolus gently takes his hands once again.

"I'll wake up tomorrow, hoping to give you flowers. I'll wake up the day after that, hoping to give you flowers. In ten years I'll wake up, hoping to give you flowers."

Noctis allows Gladio to hold his hands, he cries again, and Gladio doesn't know what to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Ignis is sitting in repose in the passenger side of an old convertible. Next to him is a woman he has asked to marry him. They are silent.

Gladio called a mere hour ago with news. Noctis is alive, that is all his friend could say, voice choking with emotion.

Ignis can remember the first months, all of them drawing away from each other because of guilt and a belief that they had failed. They hadn't even been able to retrieve the body, the foundations of the throne room collapsing.

To think that their prince survived, having sacrificed everything, to be left behind by those who had sworn themselves to him.

Ignis doesn't know what to expect.

They arrive, he can feel the heat of Lestallum pouring down on him. His fiance asks him what he needs before guiding him to the small living apartments which most of them live in. She steps back, and he hears Gladio's heavy foot fall.

"He's upstairs," Gladio's voice is soft.

Maybe the thing Gladio has learned most in the last six years is to be gentle. Gone are the gruff demands to stand strong, the heavy handed prods to get back up. Gladio can now appreciate that there are times to be weak, and that not everybody needs a slap on the back. Ignis wonders though, has since the start of these long six years of daylight, if it isn't because Gladio wishes he could go back and be gentle, to see that Noctis had needed more than a rough shove and a harsh pep talk. And maybe, Gladio needed gentleness for himself.

Foresight is a bitch. Ignis shakes his head, crassness aside, he isn't here to let bitterness overwhelm him. Besides, Gladio has suffered by self-flagellation quite enough, no need to cast his own stone, not when he has his own guilt.

The man's hand is a fluttering touch upon his elbow and he allows himself to be guided up well remembered steps. They reach the landing and Gladio pulls away to open the door. Ignis doesn't wait for Gladio's hand to return and enters the room by himself.

He hears someone breathe and then hold their breath. Taking a few more steps into the room he waits.

"Noctis," he finally says, a tone of reverence in it.

He assumes the man, his King, the one he swore fealty to and his life, is before him.

"Yes," the reply is hesitant, as if the name is still foreign to the owner.

Despite the timidity, the undertone of youthful arrogance absent, and softness, Ignis recognizes the voice. His throat tightens, fingers clenching over the top of the grip of his cane, and tears pool and burn in his eyes. He kneels, stooping quickly and placing his left knee against the carpet.

The sudden intake of air lets him know that Noctis is taken aback.

"Your highness," he says, voice clear and strong.

Ignis can hear Gladio shift in the background, uncomfortable, worried, probably fretting over their amnesiac king. Ignis can only think that if Noctis is to remember who he is and to free himself from the wounds he entered Insomnia with, it will require them to acknowledge who he is and what he represents.

"I-" the King falls short.

"It is okay, I know you do not remember me, and I expect nothing of you. Merely for you to know that you have many in this world who stand by you."

The room is swallowed up by the solemness of Ignis' speech. He stands.

"Who are you?"

"I am your friend, but I believe most people call me Ignis Scientia, your highness."

The room is awkward. Ignis thinks that maybe he is being too forward, too formal, but the thought is gone, he will not deprive his friend of the honor he has more than earned. He will not let his friend feel unworthy, never again.

"Thank you, Ignis."

"Of course," he hums in response, smiling softly.

Gladio's hand is once again on his elbow, fingers carefully tugging to show Ignis that his time is up for now. Ignis does not agree, but the argument will come after, when the King isn't present to be weighed by it.

The door shuts behind him and he waits. A minute later Gladio emerges.

"He's resting now."

Ignis lets out a soft 'hmm'.

"He's," Gladio pauses, "gone through a lot."

"I know."

Gladio began guiding him back down the hall.

"You can't avoid the truth, Gladio, he'll learn of his past and of who he is."

"I know."

They began the descent down the stairs.

"You won't fix things by ignoring the past, by pretending the mistakes, all of ours, were not made."

They arrive at the base of the steps and Gladio pulls back, shrinking away. Another change, his guilt has chased him into shadows and the only place Ignis knows he has any of his previous fervour is in hunting.

Ignis reaches out and grasps his friend's arm, because ultimately that is what Gladio is, beyond duty and fate and prophecies.

"Forgive yourself, Gladio."

The arm is wrenched away and Ignis is left alone on the steps, the sun beating down once again.

Gladio returns to the room with panic edging in, his guilt threatening to capsize him. He focuses on what he needs to do, to be, for Noctis.

He opens the door and walks in. Noctis is by the window, his profile to Gladio, eyes shut and face turned to the sunshine streaming in through the window. For just a moment Noctis appears to be at complete peace, hands folded in his lap, a small, quiet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He is beautiful. Gladio watches, but the moment is gone, Noctis' eyes opening and his head turning to Gladio.

He is unsure and worried, but there is a feline coolness in his gaze which reminds Gladio that the man who once was is not completely lost.

"You should see Lestallum," says Gladio, taking a faltering step into the room. "If you'd like."

"Okay."

Gladio approaches, his manner still skittish from the conversation with Ignis. He folds his arms and looks out the window.

"It gets pretty warm, so we can head back whenever you'd like. There's a market, not far, if you're hungry."

He's looking at Noctis and he can't help but feel tied up in knots, a miracle given to him and yet he doesn't know how to handle it. They haven't talked, he knows nothing about the last six years, and somehow that trumps twenty years of knowing. He wants to hold Noctis, clutch him close and give back everything that was taken. It doesn't work like that, and now he is having to find a way to communicate with someone who doesn't know him.

"Okay."

Gladio nods, glancing between Noctis and the floor before setting his shoulders back and moving to grab his wallet from out of the dresser. He knows Noctis is watching him. He returns and licks his lips nervously.

"I'll take your chair down first, then you, if you don't mind."

Noctis nods.

Gladio moves forward, carefully lifting Noctis from the chair and placing him on the bed. He wants to say a million things, the king in his arms.

"I'll be back."

Grabbing the chair he leaves the room and goes back down the steps. He'll need to change apartments, see if he can be in one on the first story. Noctis will need a doctor to look him over, he'll need to-

Gladio stops, pressing his palm against his eyes and trying to breathe. He doesn't even know if Noctis wants to stay here, if the battered amnesiac is even considering giving Gladio a chance. The moment two days ago, in the room, first setting eyes on Noctis, he'd been elevated from reality. Now it glares at him with ferocity.

He goes back up, opens the door and with a rush of something, carefully pulls Noctis into his grasp. Thin arms loop around his neck and a cheek rests against his shoulder. Gladio forgets reality until Noctis is back in his chair again.

They go out and into the streets.

The debris which perpetually litters the ground of Lestallum makes navigation difficult, but they manage. The first stop is the open market, farmers, butchers, smiths, and ware-sellers hock their goods from their stalls. Noctis admires, Gladio pushes, and a surprising sense of content rises between them.

"Sir."

Both Gladio and Noctis turn their heads. They are in front of a stall, a teenage boy at it and looking with wide eyes at them, the one who spoke.

"Philo Veenon, and-and Chester. I gave you licorice bits, they were your favorite."

The teenager nods, looking absolutely stunned.

"I-your highness," the boy's gaze darts between Noctis and the ground, before he makes an awkward bow.

Gladio is frozen. Noctis remembers.

"Highness?" repeats Noctis, tone confounded. "No, I-I don't, remember, I'm sorry, just."

Noctis sounds genuinely upset so Gladio tilts his head at the boy and wheels Noctis out of the market and into a quiet corner. He kneels and meets a gaze that is broken and confused. Gladio grabs Noctis' shaking hands and holds them.

"Breathe," he orders.

Noctis breathes.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Gladio shakes his head. "Don't be."

There's been enough of that, enough apologies, Noctis did his duty.

"I-I remember things, bits, here, and there," his voice is fractured and hoarse, "smells, like the market, I remember the Cleigne ginger and the-the schier turmeric, the yellow color and the smell, oh the smell, but."

He closed his eyes, breaths shaky.

"It's never been like this," he whispers.

Amber meet dark blue.

"I have something, to show you, before we go back."

Noctis swallows, averting his eyes and nodding his head. Gladio pushes Noctis out of the twisted alleyways and across the road until they are at the parking area which sat atop the ravine. The sun is low on the horizon and the view is breathtaking. They go to a corner and Gladio steps away. Noctis cranes his head as he watches Gladio walk toward a food vendor.

He turns back and looks to the view before him. A memory slips into his mind, slowly, at the break of the shine of the sun, a blonde boy walks by, tall, blue eyed, laughter in his eyes and crooking at his mouth. The man, the man from before, Ignis, but his glasses, they glint in the light and he is smiling as well, and he is 'Specs'.

"Hey."

The memory is gone.

"Are you alright?"

Gladio is there, concerned, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.

Noctis shakes his head, sees the flowers and the look on Gladio's face. He smiles.


End file.
